


Clockworks

by HellaCosmic



Series: Clockworks [1]
Category: Uncategorized - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 02:47:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3593508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HellaCosmic/pseuds/HellaCosmic





	1. Chapter 1

“Tick-tock,” called the clock, wanting to captivate the students’ attention. The students were hypnotized and focused on their work. All that was heard was scribbling, foot tapping, and shifting on some occasions. But all that was muffled by the clock’s ticking and tocking.  
“Time’s up. Pencils down,” called the teacher “Pass your papers forward.” Dozens of papers flipping and being passed forward now took over the clock’s ticking and tocking, which was now muffled. Groans of displeasure replaced the silence of the classroom.  
“I so failed that test,” whispered one student to another “Hey, at least we can fail the test together!” the student teased back in response. The whispering grew louder and louder until those private conversations became public conversations. The talks varied from their weekly plans to weird dreams, which happened more often than not to many students. While everyone was talking, there was one boy just doodling and looking up at the clock occasionally. He was a quiet boy with dark brown locks that covered his ears. He would part his bangs from his eyes from time to time. The boy was neatly dressed; his red collar ribbon in a nice knot and his brown suit was somewhat the same color as his eyes. He seems like the type of guy who was always focused, when really, it was the opposite.  
“What are you drawing there, C,” a boy to the right of his seat asked him as he was peeling an orange with a pencil. He sat up a bit to get a closer glimpse of the drawing “Are you drawing the clock? Why are you drawing the clock? Are you impatient to get out? Or maybe you’re just hungry? Want some of my orange, Cecil?”  
There it was. The one thing that caught his attention was people saying his name. Cecil looked towards the boy’s direction. The boy’s appearance made him seem calm. His hairstyle was neat and grey. His blue eyes were the most distinguishing feature, aside from his hair. Most of the time, he changed subjects in the middle of a conversation, making it difficult to balance out what you were talking about with him. This boy was the complete opposite of Cecil, focused, and always seemingly calm. It’s as if nothing had essentially bothered him in the world. The boy’s name was Morriar. Morriar Tremblay, Cecil’s schoolmate whom he had met in the third grade.  
“Alright, class, settle down. You can save your conversations until after the bell,” the teacher’s voice spoke above the students’ and once again, the classroom grew silent and the clock’s ticking and tocking was heard once again. There was a short silence right before the bell rang. Cecil felt a slight jolt at the very moment the bell rang, he sat there for a solid minute while all the other students were packing up and leaving.  
“Don’t forget your homework,” The teacher called out and let out a sigh.  
Cecil stood up and started packing up. Morriar stood behind him giving his usual confused stare.  
“Hey, Cecil, are you feeling fine? You haven’t spoken for a while now. Are you perhaps sick? Or has your little sister kept you up all night with her crying? Did your brother betray you on the playground while playing Cops-and-Robbers? Either way, there has to be a reason why you’re not talking,” Morriar went on and on with his nonsensical tangents. Cecil packed his last book and turned to his schoolmate.  
“I’m doing fine. Morriar, I’m fine. And why would I be playing Cops-and-Robbers? I’m not a child anymore, you know.”  
“I supposed that’s true, but you’re never too old to play on a playground or play Cops-and-Robbers. You have to keep your childhood and teenhood balanced, don’t you?”  
“You can barely keep a conversation balanced,” Cecil uttered under his breath and walked out the classroom door. Morriar followed right behind him. The two talked as they walked home. Something seemed off when Morriar walked to his doorstep. Cecil shrugged it off and resumed walking to his home.  
“I should probably go to sleep earlier,” He shook his head “Yeah, maybe I’m not getting enough sleep.” He looked around to survey his surroundings. Few shops were starting to close, the roads were beginning to look really busy, and the streetlamps glared their faint lights upon the streets. Cecil finally made it to his front porch. As he was reaching for the door knob, he felt a slight jolt.


	2. Chapter 2

Cecil looked around frantically, looking left and right constantly. He felt uneasy, as if someone was watching him. Cecil looked around a few more times before calling out,  
“Hello?”  
Nothing. No sound but wind brushing against the leaves of a tree or a bush. He felt the wind blow lightly on the bangs of his hair. He stood silent before calling out again, his voice louder and wavering from fear,  
“Hello? Is anyone out there? You…you had better not be messing with me, Morriar.”  
There was no response once again. He turned back to his door, letting out a long annoyed sigh. Rustling was heard, but Cecil chose to disregard it knowing it would stop the moment he turned his attention to the sound. The rustling grew louder; a few thuds could be heard. What was that, he thought. He gave in to curiosity, bearing ideas that whatever was causing the rustling was sure to kill him. He shook his head to keep himself from thinking about whatever it was he was thinking about and walked towards the source of the sounds.  
A bush.  
A bush? A bush out of all sources of noises?! When did my life become a horror movie…? Cecil couldn’t help but think, he decided to just turn around and walk inside his home and forget what had just happened to him. A short figure in a long, tan tunic jumped up from the bushes. Cecil stood frozen while the figure landed on the ground and pointed a plastic toy sword at him. She had long fawn hair that was held up in a ponytail and set to sit on her shoulder. A cocky, energetic smirk grew on her face, still pointing the sword at Cecil, who was holding his hands up in fear before putting them down. He knew who she was and he had always thought that she was a bit of a nuisance.  
Clarice Donnovan.  
Clarice laughed and put her sword down.  
“Relax Cece. It’s fake! It couldn’t snap a withered flower’s stem!”  
“Right, it couldn’t. But a thing like that could poke an eye out! Be careful where you point it,” Cecil fixed his hat and turned away, “What do you even want, anyways?”  
Clarice rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, “Me and Ross are playing with swords, obviously. But the matching is uneven and I need one more mate!”  
Cecil started towards his door, not paying attention to Clarice.  
“Are you listening? Don’t ignore me!”  
Cecil turned back to Clarice and put his hand over his head, saying, “You must be at least this tall to speak to me.”  
Clarice squinted her eyes at Cecil, watching him walk away. She quickly walked up to him and pushed him down with her foot.  
“What’d ya say, buddy,” She raised an eyebrow and held Cecil down with her foot.  
“Ow, ow, ow! It’s not my fault you’re short,” Cecil struggled to get up.  
“But it was your fault that slipped out your mouth,” She said, lifting her foot off Cecil’s back, “Crack another thing like that and we’ll test the plastic sword poking an eye out thing.”  
Cecil got up and brushed the dust off him, glaring at Clarice and mumbling; “Now you know why I find you a nuisance.”  
Cecil turned back only to find that Clarice had left. He walked to his door, checked his surroundings to make sure there were no other rustling bushes. Thankfully, there weren’t. He turned the door knob and entered his home; first thing seeing was a pink sticky note on the counter. He read over the note, whispering to himself,  
“At least I have the rest of the day alone. I can finally study quietly.”  
He let down his backpack and started dragging it upstairs. He survived the end of the week, a rather strange week at that. He felt as if the days were getting longer, as if things are slowly disorganizing, as if everyone around him was growing sluggish like he was. Cecil, being a teenager who doesn’t believe things right away, decided to shrug it off as a side effect of being fatigued from a long week. Arriving his room, Cecil tossed his backpack beside his bed and lazily threw himself on his bed after. He closed his eyes. There it is again. That tapping.  
The same tapping he hears when he finds himself alone in the comfort of his own home, a rather suspicious tapping. Before he could get himself to wonder what it was, he fell sound asleep. The tapping grew fainter as he delves deeper into his sleep.


End file.
